It's Snow Joke Living Like This

Miooooow.

     Right, I've finally come out the huff. What with being abandoned in kennels and being forced to stay indoors cos of all that white stuff humans refer to as 'snow,' I've really had quite a time of it.
     The worm - or rather the weather - had turned and all last week I was darting about the back gardens of Beith, leaping across hut roofs, dancing on window sills and sticking my head down a big hole in Paw's garden I've discovered which, intriguingly, has water at the bottom. It's such good fun altho I'm not sure Muttie shares my passion. She always has this despairing look on her old pus everytime I enter through the back door at the end of the day with my funny, mud-encrusted ears.
     As usual I'm not very pleased with her right now. She's just returned from Sweden with two writing implemements she refers to as 'Milton pens.' That's because they are a replica of moi - two plastic black/white cats which double as a biro. She thinks this is funny. I find it downright insulting. Or at least I did until I remembered that the other week there someone made a Barbie doll to look like JK Rowling. Had they heard of me in Sweden, I mused? I'd no idea, though I'm not particularly suprised that my blog has reached international waters. Guess it was only a matter of time.
     Another reason I'm not happy with the Muttie woman is her behaviour last week. She attempted to turn me into a drug addict. Yes, you heard right.
    She came home from town grinning, with a cloth mouse which smelled distinctly 'herby.' She then proceeded to throw it into the centre of the sitting room, then stare at me for several long minutes in an expectant fashion. There ensued a lengthy stalemate during which I stared at the cloth mouse and, in a rather unanimated fashion, it stared back at me.
     "Well??" Muttie said, with a distinctly impatient air.
     Bemused, and justifiably in need of a treat, I gave her one of my 'I can only just tolerate you' looks.
     "Oh come on Milt, give me a triple axis or a double back flip. Or even take the blinds three at a time. I want to see you go doolally."
     It was at that point I realised she was obviously mistaking me for a performing seal. My sympathy for her simple state knew no bounds.
     In the end, of course, she gave up and stomped off, muttering on and on about someone - or something - being "a total waste of fur."
     My credibility intact, I went off to source that watering hole. I'm sure it's the home of a yummy big mole.